Falling from grace
by My-Comatose-Shadow-Friend13
Summary: A case goes sour and Sherlock gets hurt. Guilt festers in John's heart as the assailant runs free and Sherlock bleeds out. Please read and review. Any comments are greatly appreciated.
1. Too late

John spun around, horror etched deeply into his features.

He watched as Sherlock, a man who bragged of his own immortality, fell to his knees.

His attacker kicked out and pinned him to the ground. Sherlock's large coat billowed out, horribly contrasting against his crumpled form. John stared in terror as the attacker wielded a giant steel girder above his head.

The silvery hue of the girder shimmered eerily, even in the dim light of the barn.

John's feet pounded and skidded amongst the wood chips and hay bales. The girder began its descent. Sherlock regarded it unflinchingly, stubbornly confident that John would intervene.

John skidded around the protruding spikes of a garden fork. He was still hopelessly far from fulfilling Sherlock's expectations despite his best efforts to reach him. He glanced up. Just in time to see the impact.

A metallic ring followed the very loud 'thunk!'.

" SHERLOCK!" John shouted.

Sherlock's body quivered, then was still. The masked man withdrew his foot and the steel girder. It now stained crimson.

" NO!"

The man snarled, made joyous by the hurt and pain in John's voice. John turned to him with anger simmering in his heart,

_If I get over there and find Sherlock dead, I'm going to kill you!_ He thought angrily.

_Actually, even if he isn't dead...I'm still gonna rip out your guts! _

With his new-found vigour he propelled himself onwards. The man lazily ambled over to the barn door and hitched the girder over his shoulder. His face was the image of all that was analytic, cold and unreasonable. John threw himself to the floor where he had previously dropped his gun. He scrabbled in the sawdust but by the time he felt the cold metal in his hands the man was long gone.

_Damn it!_

Slamming his fists into the floor with frustration, John quickly looked up.

_What am I doing? Harkening for revenge isn't the right thing to be worried about now! Think man, your friends lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood!_

He reverted to his doctoring mentality. Sprinting over, John slid upon his knees and frowned heavily down at Sherlock's lacerated face. There was a deep indentation across his right temple and numerous wounds all crying red tears.

_Shit! _

John stripped off his jacket and used it as a makeshift pressure pad.

" Stay with me Sherlock. You've just got to keep breathing for me alright? If you can hear me just keep doing what you're doing, that'd be great..."

John churned out a barrage of meaningless, reassuring phrases whilst his heart twisted up into a knot of guilt and fear. He wasn't completely sure who he was trying to console more; himself or Sherlock.

By this point in their relationship, he was well accustomed to the occasional time when he was expected to save Sherlock's life. But it had never gone wrong. Until now.

He quickly dialled 999 with one hand whilst the other was busy searching for a pulse. He found one. It was weak but stable.

John let out a sigh of relief.

" Hello. This is your national emergency service number, what service do you require?"

The receptionist on the other end of the line seemed to be exceptionally well-mannered and calm. John felt patronised by that and felt a surge of resentment towards the stranger. It infuriated him so badly.

" Let me think..." He said, anger made his sarcasm more prominent and vicious sounding,

" A man is bleeding dry in a godforsaken barn, so I'd say an ambulance please! And quickly! Hurry!"

There was silence for a couple of moments, then a different voice spoke out.

" Sherlock has gotten so boring, John."

_What the-_

" Tell Sherlock that Daddy has found someone far more interesting to screw around with. I'd hurry if I were you. Your little angel going to desert you very soon."

John searched for words but with little success. The terrible anger within him screeched and it churned as was brought to the boil.

" Hold on- What? You, who are you?"

The phone call disconnected.


	2. Shock

**First off, I'm not a big fan of these editorial notes but... Yes, there is a pretty big but, because I wanted to say thank you to Ballykissangel for her AMAZINGLY thoughtful review :) and to ghostofqueenqueg for having enough faith to follow this fic. Thaaaaannk yoooooouuuuuu.**

**Oh! Also want to thank the faceless 100ish visitors for reading anyways, (All this in under 24 hours of posting! Yay internet!)**

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_What the hell just happened?_

John sat back on his haunches, pressing his free hand to his mouth in horror. That voice. He'd heard it before...

The masculine voice with a undisguised Irish accent belonged to Jim Moriarty.

John glanced down at Sherlock, his elongated limbs were twitching violently. Discarding the sodden jacket John clambered onto him. As Sherlock squirmed around in his own blood, John hastily tried to restrain him. John used his hands to steady Sherlock's flailing arms and pressing his knees into Sherlock's thighs. The affinity would have been quite awkward if not for the dire circumstances. Cradling his phone between his shoulder and cheek John stared down at Sherlock.

" John! H-h-help!" Sherlock croaked loudly as he thrashed from side to side. John was roughly thrown around but he forcefully renewed his grip anyway. Warm blood splattered in all directions.

" John?" Sherlock gasped, " John, it hurts. Everywhere hurts!"

Sherlock's face was so bloodless, so pale that his bright eyes seemed to bulge from his skull. Staring deeply into John's eyes he whispered,

" Where were you John?" There was no accusation nor any anger. It was only a plaintive question but to John it may as well been a dagger thrust deep into his heart.

" Why didn't you stop him?" He asked again with blood tripping copiously down his face.

" I'm sorry Sherlock but I couldn't stop him." John choked out his ill-chosen answer in hope that the truth was preferable to a lie, "I just couldn't." Sherlock sagged at these words and averted his gaze, blinking rapidly.

_Is he...crying?_

_He must think himself a fool for trusting me... I've failed him..._

His eyes, they were so full of despair and disappointment. But most poignant of all was the utter desperation. He was desperately trying to live, trying to think, trying to forgive and trying to forget my treachery. It was all to much...

John willed himself to say that everything would be alright.

It was easy to reassure a dying stranger, there was no bond for Death to break. But Sherlock Holmes was no outsider. He was more than a flat mate, more than a friend and altogether something more intimate. It couldn't possibly be explained, only felt.

Sherlock and John were almost nose to nose. Their eyes locked together and Sherlock gave him a small grimace. It could have been the start of a smile but the pain dragged the corners down instead.

But John couldn't do it. He hadn't the strength to lie about it, Sherlock Holmes was going to die.

His face crumpled.

_Perhaps there's still time..._

John began to dial 999 again but stopped short at pressing the last digit. The emergancy services would take too long but he knew who to call. He dialled in the new number.

John pressed the phone so hard against his ear that it hurt. He waited and waited. He began to mutter every colourful obscenity known to man. Sherlock groaned, his breathing patterns oscillating dangerously; almost bordering hyperventilation and then changing to resemble that of the deepest sleep.

John heard the phone being picked up, there was a deathly silence on the other end.

" Mycroft?"

" Yes. John Watson," replied Mycroft, "to what do I owe this honour?"

The news of Sherlock's injury tumbled from his lips. It was a waterfall; a mix of fact and fiction spawned from the overwhelming fear bubbling within him. Expecting it to fall onto disinterested ears John fought back tears, Mycroft was his and Sherlock's last hope.

" I'll assemble a medical team now. I'm aware of your present location so stand by."

John jerked upright, relief reddening his cheeks. A small "Thank you," was all he could manage in return but he doubted it was heard over the whirring helicopter propellers. He hung up the call.

A warm glow radiated from his chest. John thought it was Hope.

Slowly, he looked down to see a dark red stain on his light, brown cardigan.


	3. The end?

_Is that my blood? Oh God! Jesus..._

_No, it's not mine it's..._

Sherlock coughed guiltily, " sorry about the cardigan John." Blood splurged from his mouth and began to congeal on his bottom lip. A great spasm ricocheted through his body. John quickly released his grip on Sherlock's limbs and tore off his cardigan.

John gently lifted Sherlock closer and cradled his head in his lap. He delicately rubbed Sherlock's face with the soft, fleecy material and soon retracted it to find it saturated with scarlet.

Sherlock dipped his forefinger into the centre of it. He regarded the blood as it trailed down over his knuckle, glancing up into John's fear striken face. Unshed tears shook in both their eyes. A glistening sheen of emotions on the verge of overflowing.

With great effort, Sherlock hovered his bloodied finger over John's left cheek. With slow but consice motions he traced something onto his skin. Sherlock gritted his teeth- fighting to withstand the pain if only for a few more minutes. Time ticked away. All the while Death circled, waiting to pounce and claim Sherlock as his own.

_Not yet. _Sherlock said to himself firmly._ Not yet_...

"W-w-what is..." John struggled to choke out his question. Clearing his throat he tried again, " what is t-t-that?"

Sherlock tilted his head upwards, a small smile dancing on his lips. He tried to crane his neck towards John, his voice was too weak to carry over even that short a distance. Seeing the distress this was causing him, John leant down to him. Sherlock's head twisted so his thin lips hovered above just above John's ear. He whispered,

" It's a love heart John."

The effect was instantaneous. The suppressed emotions held captive between John's rib cage now surged free. John wept bitterly, burying his face into Sherlock's chest. Not all his sobs were unhappy but most were. Sherlock's large spidery hands caressed John's head in long, tender strokes. There was so much to say and so many different words and ways to say it. Convulsing with sorrow and violent hiccups John forced himself to withdraw and breathe deeply. They gazed deeply into one another's eyes, saying nothing.

Sherlock felt a chill press onto his shoulder. Inhaling sharply, he lowered his gaze. It was no chill but mutilated hand of Death. The frost bitten fingers drove deep into his flesh and grabbed at the bone. A guttural cry escaped him. Sherlock watched helplessly as John slipped in and out of focus, his eyes wild with fright.

" Oh no, not now! Not now! Mycroft's on his way w-w-with help! Sherlock! Stay with me! Don't you dare leave me now. Not now..." John's voice wobbled and his Adam's apple quivered as he gulped down his hysteria.

With undeniable inner strength Sherlock kept his eyes locked onto John's even as Death ripped him away. Further and further down the tunnel of light he was dragged, never losing sight of his best friend. Not for one precious moment.

Sherlock's hand fell from John's locks onto his chest.

" No. No, no... Sher-" John grasped at Sherlock's wrist, it hung limply. A rising heat began in the pit of John's stomach, it flurried through his blood and scalded his throat as vomit projected from between his lips. He screamed,

" SHERLOCK!"

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**Hiya guys, it's me again. And this time I'd like to thank my five (new), faithful, fantastic followers; GobletCharm64, Space Invading Body Snatcher, mari12345, Imica85 and tigersoul101. Plus, just to let you know this is the highest number (6) of followers I've ever had! Yay! **


	4. Supernatural

**Hey everyone! Thanks for your continued interest in my drabblings and a special shout out to Ancki from Germany. Hello Ancki and let me just thank you for your fabulous review! :D Iona55, welcome to our ****hearty band of followers now at a grand total of 8! Whoop whoop! :)**

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If John couldn't feel solidness of the floor beneath him, he'd be tempted to believe he was plummeting from a rooftop. An extremely high one.

John staggered to his feet, the barn spun around him but his terrible grief anchored him down amidst the chaos.

_Sherlock is dead... Sherlock is dead...Sherlock is dead... _

The three fateful words circled round and round, in an endless, inescapable loop.

_I failed him... I failed him... I failed him..._

Cried out a second loop following the first.

None too gently he flung himself onto Sherlock again. Maddened with grief John shook him, rocking him back and forth until he could no longer see through the waterfall of tears. Slumping tearily beside him, John stared down at Sherlock. The beautiful, genuine smile on his lips looked so out of place on the face of a man who was considered a machine. A monster. A freak. It was almost scary. How could anyone be so blind? Sherlock Holmes was a great man; caring, sensitive and protective.

People chastised him for his sociopathic tendencies but it was his version of safety. Only now in Death were the walls torn down, the curtains ripped open and burnt. All those raw emotions, all that raw passion was shimmering below the surface just for John.

" Oh Sherlock..." John looked deeply into Sherlock's kindly eyes but there was no comfort hiding there. Death had stolen him from the Earth without remorse and John was so alone. All that was left was John Watson was a shadow. One that longed for the presence of his significant other. No matter the cost.

John shakily placed a hand on Sherlock's chest, on his heart. Despite already knowing what he'd find, the emptiness and void of life was unnerving. John doubled over and wept. Mournful wails eminated from his chest as his heart sang out in anguish. He clasped his hands in prayer, squeezed tears from his eyes and whispered,

" Oh please God bring him back. He's a great man. Don't let Death seperate us, this isn't fair... Please!"

John looked sky-wards, past the delapidated barn roof and began searching the night sky for a Heavenly answer. A sign. Anything. The stars danced, twinkling brightly as if everything was right in the world. But John knew that his world was anything but.

Staggering to his feet, John hurried over to the open door. The chilly night breeze coursed toward him, raising mountainous goosebumps on his exposed skin. Shivering, John let the last of his tears roll down his cheeks, their descent slowed by their transformation into ice droplets. John sniffled. His head flopped to his chest despondently as he stared at the puddle by his feet. In it he saw himself. Wretched. Lost. Alone. But then he caught sight of the vivid blood love heart on his cheek. It proclaimed loudly of his and Sherlock's love even as the rain tore at it, smudging it and trying to erase it from existance.

_Why is the world so intent on ruining what is perfect? Why?_

Behind him, a bright white light began to pulsate around Sherlock. At first, John was so overcome that he did not notice it but as it grew stronger, it demanded his attention. He unfolded himself and turned around. An ethereal light swirled and contorted the very air above him. John stared, mouth agape. The ghostly form of a man rapidly emerged, taking on the features of an incredibly familiar face.

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**Hey! Guess what guys? EDIT: This fanfiction has been viewed by 700+ different people! Revel in the power of the internet! Seriously though, if your reading this now you're amazing. :D**


	5. Decisions

**Hey guys! I'm sorry but my new fanfiction chapters may be uploaded erratically rather than by any particular schedule. I am terribly sorry, you have no idea but I have to go back to school. (It's been the six week holidays.) URGH! Again, so sorry!**

**Thanks to my newest reviewers Sue and Ernil i Pheriannath!**

**Thanks to the four favourites and ten followers :D**

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" Sherlock?" John whispered, completely at a loss.

The man swayed a little on the balls of his feet as if adjusting to his new non-corporeal body. Ghost Sherlock, for indeed it was him, looked around bemusedly. John felt veins straining his forehead, his eyes were bulging so much that he believed they'd pop. Brushing off his also translucent coat Sherlock regarded his corpse cooly, smiling at it like it was an old friend.

" Thank you body. You never failed me."

_He even sounds the same! But... Sherlock's dead. He's lying right there on the floor! How is this even possible?_

Approaching his own corpse without fear in his eyes, Sherlock placed a transparent hand on the left side of his chest. Suddenly, his hand sunk into it and groped around as if searching for his heart. After a moment, Sherlock averted his gaze from his corpse and sighted John. John felt a rising heat flush his cheeks. An intense stare passed between them which nearly reduced John to tears.

" How are you even here?" John stuttered, stunned to immobility.

"You're dead! Your heart stopped! You're dead on the floor! Your hand is _in_ your own chest for God's sake! I don't..." He gestured weakly in direction of the slightly disturbing scene before him.

"...understand."

Ghost Sherlock rose to his feet and took long, purposeful strides straight towards John. Meekly, John tried to inch away. He didn't wish to alarm the apparition Sherlock just in case rejection could turn it vile or demonic. John forced a feeble smile but it wobbled nervously across his lips.

_Is this thing even Sherlock? Should I run? Should I be scared? Surely this isn't natural... This can't possibly be real! Can it?_

" Even now my heart still beats for you." Sherlock said in a voice that was both saddening and bold. As he neared, John took a step back. Sherlock wouldn't take the hint and moved to meet him.

"It's just too quiet for you to hear..." John's eyes flitted up as Sherlock planted a deep kiss onto his lips. Or rather Sherlock leant in, passion flaming in his eyes but abruptly stopped short. John watched him visibly strain against an invisible barrier, despair welled up in both their eyes. Sherlock got within an inch of cupping John's cheek before once again, he was forced away. The barrier prohibited the simple action and to devastating effect... Sherlock began to cry and John rushed to console him. And for a third time they were prised apart. Realisation dawned.

Withdrawing tearily, Sherlock bit his lip as if unsure of whether to share his revelation. Upon seeing no visible opposition on John's face he murmured,

" Whilst you're still alive we'll forever be barred from each other. Never allowed to touch. Never able to fulfil either of our dreams or passions. Living a half life. Helpless without the other." Earnestly he caught John's eye and they shared a look,

" Is that what you want John?"

John offered no reply. Only silence.

" I mean life has many great things in store for you. I'm sure of it. You have Molly... Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. And I - well, I only had you. Sure, they were my friends but you John, were something more."

Revealing how much he really relied on John was surprisingly freeing but he sagged nevertheless. Sherlock felt his throat tightening as if a noose were wrapping itself lovingly around his neck,

" But now I don't even have you."

A glistening sheen of sweat broke out across John's forehead as he began to understand what Sherlock was asking.

_Sherlock is scared. He doesn't want a life without me, nor do I want to carry on without him, but do I want to kill myself to join him? Do I even have the courage?_

_I didn't ask for this, _he thought, _I just wanted my friend back!_

John stared imploringly up at the stars, willing an answer to form in the constellations,

_ What should I do? God, have I brought this upon myself by asking for Sherlock's return?_

Lowering his gaze he recalled what he'd actually said,

_" Oh please God bring him back. He's a great man. Don't let Death seperate us, this isn't fair... Please!"_

_Damn you! _He thought, _Damn you God._

" I'm going to do it." he stated loudly as if hoping to provoke a reaction from the Heavens. Nothing. A wave of relief overcame Sherlock,

" Thank you John. You know I'd be lost without my blogger."

John hurried over to the garden fork protruding from a hay bale. The one thing that had stopped him from helping Sherlock would now stop his heart.

_How poetic..._

He positioned himself directly in front of the three trident like prongs. If he did not hurry his foolish courage would desert him. Taking a deep breath that he knew was to be his last, John stole a glance back to the Sherlock apparition. He looked so lonely.

_Not for long..._

Sherlock proffered a ghostly hand. John wanted to take it. He wanted to join him so badly, it hurt. A sharp wind whipped up around him, a helicopter spotlight shone down through the rafters. Mycroft was here. It was now or never. Gritting his teeth John grasped the handle and with one swift motion jerked it towards him. It came free. Planting itself into his chest. A small smile flickered across his features then froze into place.

_Your blogger is on the way Sherlock. _He thought,_ I'll be with you soon._


End file.
